Guns, Gravel and Girls
by Imagination's-Limit
Summary: In the insane world of Teufort, the RED mercs are faced with probably the most challenging opponent yet; women. Contains swearing, and may contain adult themes in future chapters.


_"Attention RED Team!"_

The female voice emitted throughout the speakers stationed around the RED base. In the underground medical facilities, a certain German man without a legal surgical licence was cleaning his scalpel after yet another (un)successful operation; this time Sniper having a record of four butterfly knives wedged into his back.

"How in ze vorld did you manage to get back to ze base vizhout bleeding to death?"

"Mate, when yer 'ired as a professional, ya gotta get yaself out of there real professional too."

Sniper sat back up from the recliner, his wounds freshly closed over from Medic's medigun. "Well, we better listen to what the Administrator has ta say."

_"Meet in the Conference Room. We have an important topic to discuss."_

Scout jerked up from his crouching position atop the shed's corrugated tin roof. He didn't realise he had been sitting there pondering stuff for a quite a while; after all, it was a day off to clear away the battlefield's overall damage. He swore under his breath, tucked his baseball bat into his hand and in one fluid motion, he leapt down, and literally hit the ground running. Within a minute he was banging on the conference room door, screaming obscene threats.

"Pallie, if you don't fuckin' open this door by the time I count to goddamn three, I'm gonna get in there and beat all the motherfucking boinks out of your assholes! You hear me faggot? YOU HEAR ME?"

A smug voice with a French accent answered his raging. "Counting to three, are we? Gentlemen, I'm sure you must agree that that is the 'ighest number 'e is capable of counting to?"

"Oh shut up you piece-a-shit!"

"Ya dills, just let him in already, I'm gettin' a mighty headache from his whinin'."

"Fuck off, Snipah!" Scout roared, his face mere inches away from the door.

"Fellas, it ain't nice; he ain't some BLU dickhead. Just open the door. Jesus."

A bored, drawling female voice was heard from the other side of the pale scarlet door. "Let him in, boys, you've had your fun already."

There was a click and the door swung open to reveal the room's insides.

It was enormous; possibly one of the biggest rooms in their base. The wall opposite to the entrance had a projector screen on it, pulled down to cover the entire surface. The Administrator was obviously using live-feed projections to speak to them. She was dressed in that immaculate purple coatdress of hers, and had her left elbow propped against the chair's armrest. A cigarette was delicately held in between two of her fingers and her lined face was displaying her usual emotion of boredom.

"I see you've finally calm down, Mr. O'Brien. Please, take a seat," she said.

Oh, Scout was still fuming. He had always been kicked around as the youngest; first by his seven older brothers and now on the battlefield. By his own friggin' teammates.

He strode over to a large square table placed in the dead centre of the room. Three sides of the table (the one without any seats was the side the projector screen was closest to) had three chairs; each side was assigned to each class group; Attack, Defence and Support. All seats were occupied save for his own. He dropped down in the chair and glared daggers into Spy's smirking balaclava-clad face, before starting to spin around in the seat while tapping out a rapid rhythm on the armrests. Not even a dead-serious meeting with the people at the top could calm down his energy levels.

"Now, gentlemen. Onto business."

The Administrator began tapping at her touch-screen pad laid out in front of her.

"Congratulations on getting through another season's worth of battle."

All nine men merely grunted.

The woman cleared her throat and proceeded onto her notes:

"It appears that our respawn system figures are peaking at a new record. And this wastes money, gentlemen. So administration is addressing a new method; bring in new female recruits."

Stunned silence met this statement, and carried on for a full five seconds before Demoman's scrumpy bottle fell to the floor in a deafening smash. Scout had his mouth hanging open in shock, Heavy was frowning and even Sniper cocked his eyebrow a little. The Soldier stood up so abruptly his rocket launcher went flying into Pyro's masked face. However, Spy was quicker and intervened before Soldier could start swearing at the woman's disinterested face.

"Mrs Administrator, with all due respect, I'm sure the RED team agrees that we won't be needing-"

"Now listen here, lady! We're fightin' hard for you and your arse-"

"-as there 'ave been many incidents before-"

"-an' throughout all my wartime experiences, I've fought sneaky Nazi spies, but this is just crossing the Goddamned line-"

"-bound to end in a 'igh death rate, people will be questioning-"

"-you can take your expenses and shove them up your-"

"-increase in debt."

The Administrator merely blinked, her lip twitching into a smile.

"This wasn't my decision, Soldier. Please, sit back down."

Soldier looked like he was about to completely disobey and start screeching at her, but Spy flashed him a glare. He fell silent, but remained standing.

"Redmond decided it was a necessary action to take. And if you're going to argue with your boss, you might as well walk out that door." Administrator jabbed at the doorway with her cigarette holder. "Go on, Mr. Smith; it's no loss to us. We can just find another man to do your legwork."

Soldier's lip curled in distaste.

"Actually, let me rephrase that; we can just find another _person _to do your legwork. We don't want to seem too sexist to your new recruits, now do we?"

Pyro poked Soldier in the shoulder with his gloved finger, a grunt of warning issuing from his gas mask. Soldier growled, but finally sat down heavily.

The Administrator smirked and placed the cigarette back between her teeth. "The recruits will arrive tomorrow morning. Be ready to meet them in the battlegrounds' respawn base at 0900. You will have thirty days to prepare the rookies for the Monthly Onslaught."

She let out a stream of smoke.

"That is all. Conference over."

And with that, the feed clicked off. The room plunged into darkness, before automatic sensory lights flooded the room with a harsh fluorescent glow. There was a moment of stillness and silence, where even Scout's drumming fingers were frozen. Then Medic stood up, his face still creased with a confused frown.

"Vell, ve better be going to bed as ze Administrator said," he stated and strode out of the room. A chorus of awkward agreements rose up and the remaining eight men exited, all going their separate ways to their rooms. Heavy and Engineer hung back to discuss the matter.

"Well, what in the tarnation do yah think 'bout this, Heavy?" The mechanics expert removed his goggles, revealing anxious and weary grey-blue eyes.

"Is not sure. Feeling bad about leetle recruits," Heavy replied in his usual aura of slowness. Except now his words had a slightly anxious side to them.

Engineer massaged his temples, head clouding with buzzing thoughts.

"Ah know what ya're mean an' all. This ain't gonna turn out good."

"Da. Leetle robot man right. But for now, must rest as shouty purple lady say."

"Yeah, ya're right, Heavy. Ah'll see y'all tomorrow. Hava good night."

"Bye leetle robot man."

And with that, each individual RED merc left to their own nightly routines, all still pondering about the morning that was yet to come.


End file.
